13-05-07 LaDonna
LaDonna LeBeaux (Parthenogenic) (5/7/2013 12:11:58 PM) (1607998) Lourenhal is a small fort, set near the edges of the great meadows. At our backs are the hills and forests and at our front, fields and farmers. The land was granted to my ancestors after they aided the Wolf King Art to take Aitbheth. Gray stone makes the walls around the fort, closing in the walled town within. Further walls enclose the keep where the pack lives. The town is all Daoine, but they've always been good to us. We protect them from swinekin attacks, after all. Even if we don't mingle as much as some lords do with their subjects, there's genuine fondness there. We've always been fair to them. Lourenhal is only distantly visible at the moment, though. If it weren't perched up on a hill, we wouldn't be able to see it at all from this distance, but as evening settles over the land we can see little bits of light from towers, peeking out through the trees. Normally, this close and we'd just push on through dark until we made it home, but we had a good hunt and unlike the Daoine, we don't hunt from horseback. It means we're carrying everything we took on our own backs. These are things no Daoine lord would ever do, and perhaps that's why the commoners remain fond of us despite our aloofness. We don't put on airs. "You're going to ruin that meat, burning it like that," I tease my brother. I'm leaning back against a log, otherwise sprawled out on the ground comfortably. My brother Anton glances up from the fire he's crouched beside. He has a hunk of venison skewered on a stick, which he's been holding directly over the flames. It's still bleeding and yet bits of it too close to the fire are turning black. "It's the way I like it. Adds more flavor," he says. I snort softly. "Fresh meat has enough flavor." "Aren't you two a bit old to be nipping each other like pups?" There's no real admonishment in our father's voice. He's standing off to one side of our campsite, his back to us as he looks out toward the keep. His head turns slightly and I can see a hint of his expression. He looks worried. "What is it, Papa?" I brace my hands against the log behind me, pulling myself up into a crouch in case I need to move quickly. My brother stays as he is, though he cocks his head curiously. He's two years older than I am, but he's always struck me as a little too weak. Soft. Not a good choice to follow our father at all. That could just be my own ambition twisting my perspective, though. If I'm not the next alpha of Lourenhal, I'll be leaving. I love Anton, but he's not a leader. I'd end up challenging him if I had to accept his authority, and I don't want to do that to my brother. I just have to hope my father and the others see his lack of leadership skills. My mother moves to stand beside my father, laying a hand on his upper arm. "Something's coming." LaDonna LeBeaux (Parthenogenic) (5/7/2013 12:12:29 PM) (1607999) I get to my feet as I hear it as well. It could just be a wild wolf or deer, or maybe even a cow that wandered off from some poor farmer's fields. As it gets closer, I discount the wolf or deer theory. This is too clumsy for that. Whatever it is, it's not an animal used to walking through the woods. The wind is blowing our smoke in the direction of the sound, so we can't scent it, frustratingly. Then again, we're a pack of eight. There aren't many solitary animals that could cause us trouble. Most would shy from the fire once they got close enough to smell it, meaning it's either a domestic animal or a sapient one. Horses, I decide, based on all the feet. Multiple horses, maybe a few men on the ground. One in the lead, which was what we heard at first. Did something happen at the fort? What finally comes into sight isn't what we'd been expecting at all. A short, skinny man, naked and stinking of blood and pus. He's holding one arm against his chest and I can see an arrow wound oozing from his shoulder. "Please, help," he gasps, before nearly collapsing into my mother's arms. Mama and Papa catch him and ease him down to the ground beside the fire. One of my aunts pulls a blanket from a pack to throw over the man's shoulders. The sound of the tramping through the forest continues as I get a water bag and offer it to the man. He drinks greedily from it, his movements jerky and odd. Falconkin, I note absently. "I fly from Wolf's Keep," he begins, before coughing. It sounds ragged and raw. He follows that by drinking more water. "The Wolf King was slain. His nephew Brendan's men shot me." A collective growl rises in the throats around the fire. Since the days of Wolf King Art, there's been intermarriage between the wolfkin who rose to the rank of nobility and the royal family. All of our blood has mingled because of that. Few of us choose our mates from nobility today, to avoid inbreeding. But it also means those of us in Aitbheth tend to take our allegiance to the Wolf King a bit more personally than the Daoine do. "Is that who pursues you now?" my father asks. "Yes. My mate flew to Eretath and I was going to the gathering grounds at the Seat of Heaven. I don't know what happened to the others in our flock that had remained at the castle, but six of us, our druid and the chicks were at the gather. An archer got me in the sky and they've been following me on the ground ever since. They had been trying to kill the new Rat Queen and Prince Aidan, but we helped them escape." My mother moves a bit closer to the falconkin, then reaches out to brush some of his matted hair back from his face. "Paul, right?" He gives a short nod. She looks back up to my father again, frowning. "They're between us and Lourenhal. They're going to catch us with him." "Let them," my father says. In this form, he's a tall, strong man with a head still full of black hair. I don't think he's afraid of anything, though in this case maybe he should be. "Why didn't you stop at Lourenhal?" I ask Paul. The falconkin shakes his head. "They fly the royal banner. I worried they'd be allowed right through the gates." LaDonna LeBeaux (Parthenogenic) (5/7/2013 12:12:55 PM) (1608000) My father turns and stares hard at the falconkin, as I think we all reach the same realization at once. My voice is soft when I speak. "You're the king's cousin. If this is a coup..." "I know." "Should we go back to the fort?" Anton asks. Papa shakes his head. "And do what? Lay siege to it? There's no reason anyone would turn away the royal banner. They've quite likely taken it without a single sword raised, while we're out here under hot pursuit." Anton frowns as he looks off toward home. "What if the falconkin is lying?" "Falconkin don't lie," I remind Anton. "If they did, they'd make terrible messengers, don't you think?" There's nothing stopping them, of course, but it's silly for them to do so, at least to Strainseiri. We can have our druid confirm the truth of what he says. A lie could only do its work for a few moments at most. The riders are forced to come down the path through the woods in single file, though their men on foot are more spread out. The marching men look exhausted, which doesn't surprise me. I wonder just how hard they've been pushed. There are six riders and a dozen men on foot. They're all armed with bows in addition to swords. Clever, if they were hunting a falconkin. "Hand over the falconkin, by order of the king," the rider in the lead says. He's armored, wearing the sigil of House Kamhain, which is two serpents forming a wheel by biting one another's tails. That he's not one of the Wolf King's men is no surprise. My father steps forward, eyes narrowed. "This tiercel is loyal to the king." "Cu Donovan is dead. This one has betrayed Cu Brendan. He must be questioned, as he's given aid to a fugitive." "He has requested sanctuary from the Lord of Lourenhal and I have given it to him," my father snaps. "If your king Brendan wants to question him, he can do it in my hall in front of my druid." The rider exchanges a look with the man on the horse next to him, then looks to my father again. "You're the Lord of Lourenhal?" "I am, as any fool who served House Faolin would know." My father's eyes flick down toward the snake crest, then back up at the rider's face. "Then I must inform you that you are lord no longer. All lands and titles held by Strainseiri are forfeit to the crown, on suspicion of aiding Prince Aidan in assassination and an attempted usurpation of the throne." The rider pauses, his lips twisting into a nasty little smirk. "You are a common beast with no right to offer sanctuary to anyone, by order of the king." LaDonna LeBeaux (Parthenogenic) (5/7/2013 12:13:15 PM) (1608001) For a moment, there's only stunned silence. There's some resentment between the Daoine and Strainseiri at times, true, but our people are loyal to us. That loyalty to each lord, and each lord to the crown, is necessary to keep the peace here. It's what's made Aitbheth a kingdom instead of hundreds of different factions and clans fighting one another. That this stupid pup of a false king thinks he can say some words and take away the loyalty of our people is absurd. My father is bristling with rage. "Donovan and I share a grandfather. My ancestors fought alongside Wolf King Art and took this land while your Lord Kamhain's ancestors were still working fields and covered in cow shit. I'm no more common than--" Papa's voice is silenced as an arrow buries itself in his neck. Another arrow strikes my mother. Several others miss their mark, as the Daoine have poor night vision. Those of us left uninjured shift. Some take wolf form, to move low to the ground and attack from beneath. Uncle Jacques and I take on our third form. Our clothing rips and tears as our bodies grow much larger. Huge wolf-like creatures standing on our hind-legs, with claws like knives. Normally, we would have warning and strip before shifting, so as not to bind ourselves with torn cloth. There's no time in a moment like this, though. My clawed hand catches the head of the lead rider and sweeps him off his horse, smashing his skull into the log beside the fire. Even though they outnumber us, we're better prepared for fighting in close quarters and those bows are soon useless. Several of the riders are unseated, slaughtered as soon as our claws and teeth can reach them. Instead of spooking, however, the horses only move away a short distance and regroup. "Horsekin," Anton barks. The wolf language is simple and not much use for in-depth conversation, but can be invaluable in battle. The thought of horsekin coming from Wolf's Keep seems absurd. Strainseiri don't enslave other Strainseiri. We might kill each other, but we don't keep one another as pets and ride around on one another's backs. That's an obscene Daoine affectation. Yet one of the horses rushes me and as I turn toward the bay gelding, I see Daoine arms where there had been no arms before, wielding a fallen sword. Where a horse's head should be is instead a Daoine torso. I've always found the third form of the enslaved horsekin especially obscene. I've seen the insides of enough animals to know that makes no sense. Two sets of lungs, two hearts, Daoine bowels ending in a horse stomach. It's a perversion of nature. The freeborn horsekin don't use a form like that, and I'm grateful for it. I manage to duck the sword as it swings for my throat, but the bay gelding was ready for that. He rears up and a front hoof slams into my head. I fall back on the ground in a crumpled heap, the world spinning around me, my vision blurred. LaDonna LeBeaux (Parthenogenic) (5/7/2013 12:13:41 PM) (1608002) I can make out my brother, though. His ears are low, lips curled back from his teeth. It might look intimidating to the Daoine, but I know it's an expression of abject fear. He comes running toward me and I don't know what his plan is, because I certainly can't rejoin the fight. I try to push myself up on one arm, groaning in pain. Just before Anton reaches me, a sword wielded by one of the captive horsekin swings down with phenomenal force from that great height. The blade bites through his spine just behind his shoulders and my brother looks as if he's folding in half as he goes down, body shattered beyond repair. What little strength I'd had left leaves me and I collapse onto the ground again. I wonder if my skull has been broken and if there's any chance to even crawl away. I slip in and out of unconsciousness, struggling to hold on to some train of thought or some weak hope. Soon, the sounds of battle end. "The falconkin ran north," one of the Kamhain men is saying. "Then we follow. Rori, you return to Lourenhal and inform the others. They can come for the dead." I hear many feet and hooves trampling off toward the meadows. One set of feet are moving west toward the fort. Once they're gone, everything is very still and quiet. The only breathing and heartbeat I can hear are my own, blood thundering in my ears as my head throbs. After a few minutes, I manage to push myself up onto my arms again and look around, bleary-eyed. The blood looks black in the darkness, except where the fire shines its light, making it look nearly purple instead. Four of the Kamhain men are among the dead, plus one of the horsekin. The rest are all my family. Just broken, discarded things with eyes staring off unseeing into the night. I want to bury them. See them properly grieved. I want to kill every last one of the men who did this, and then their lords and pup king. But to see anything done at all means I need to live, and I won't do that for long if I'm still here when the others return. Not trusting only one pair of legs to carry me, I shift to my wolf form and unsteadily rise onto four legs. To the Seat of Heaven. That's where Paul had been going, to give warning to his flock and spread the truth. That seems the best way to aid my vengeance. Slowly, I begin my trek away from home and my dead. Category:Logs Category:LaDonna LeBeaux